The Sugar Bowl
by PearlGirl
Summary: Do not read this collection of poems I have gathered from the remains of a green mansion that was burned to the ground. They are horribly tragic.
1. Chapter 1

Dear Reader,

Please do not read this collection of poems that was found in a box that could only opened by a key that was in another smaller box, which could only be opened by a smaller key, found in the burned remains that had once been the house of a female photographer. The different poems are meant to be together, and are divided into sections using roman numerals. The title of the collection is 'The Sugar Bowl', though the poems seem to have almost nothing to do with sugar or containers of any kind. Do not read these poems, as the poet was obviously depressed, and reading them will cause you to become so mournful, that only a very large bar of chocolate would be able to help you.

PearlGirl, the unfortunate collector of these poems.

I. LET THE BELLS RING

Hear the loud alarum bells-  
Brazen bells!  
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!

Sounding from across the desert, clanging,

Over Lake Lachrymose's dark waters, singing,

Throughout the sand dunes from the Beach, tolling,

To the school and the lucky lumbermill, every bell dinging,

And the vibrating, hollow sound of the sad bell

Reaches even the ears of a tall man

With a very short hat,

And a long accordion.

Birds and beasts,

A few eagles and lions,

Crickets, snakes and

Marmosets,

Hear but never understand,

See but never perceive.

The wedding bells are silent,

But my friend Barbara once said,

In her naivety and sad, sweet innocence,

'You never lose by loving.

You lose by holding back.'

Life is never really like that,

And the way I learned is full of woe;

Full of the same bitterness

And terribly sour taste Juliet

Felt when her rose by any other name died,

Without her knowledge or desire.

'These violent delights have violent ends'

You have left me with no mistress

No wedding bells, my Beatrice.

'Ring…ring…ringing  
Of the bells, bells, bells,

To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.'

PLEASE REVIEW! THERE ARE MORE CHAPTER COMING!


	2. The Little Snicket Lad

I don't really like the lines that I had to put across the page, but it was the only way I could get there to be breaks between the different parts of the poem.

REVIEWER NOTES

Em Quagmire- You want to know something creepy? Don't tell anyone but, (whispers) We have the same first name! Which is a surprise because the name 'Emily' is soooo uncommon. I mean, I've _never_ met _anyone_ else with that name. It's not like it's the number one baby name in American or anything. Oh _no_. Thank you, I try to follow Snicket's style. But it helped because finding this collection of poems made me so _depressed_!

Queenofinsanity- Ah, my faithful reviewer. You really are insane. 'woot, woot'! I've never heard anyone even _say_ that, let alone leave it in a review!

Visualpurple- Yupers. This is based off of The Wasteland by T. S. Elliot. Well, it's only slightly based off it. I just got the idea of using roman numerals from Elliot.

coolmarauders- Very sharp. Yes, the first part was based off 'The Bells'. Thanks for reviewing!

PLEASE DO NOT READ THE SECOND POEM IN THIS COLLECTION OF THIRTEEN POEMS!

II. The Little Snicket Lad

'And then they took him yea they took him,

They took him far away,

They took him in the dead of night,

Beneath a moon of gray.

* * *

They took him to their hideout

Where they taught him all they knew

The VFD they took him

And they showed him what to do.

* * *

When we show you baby pictures

From the window of a car

You'll soon be doing noble work

Although you'll get a scar.

* * *

When you get a coded message

You'll be a volunteer

Watch out for smoke and fires,

The world is quiet here.'

* * *

Childhood was sweet, drinking tea

With my siblings, visiting,

The diary farm and reading,

In our huge, vast library, flammable,

From the arched doorway to

the blue sofas near the windows.

And on the arch above the door,

'Amor vincit omnia'

Boldly stating that which is not true,

And shall never be true,

At least in regard to myself.

* * *

My favorite books lined,

On the far shelf, the pages,

Bent from sweet use.

'The Bears' Famous Invasion of Sicily'

'Charlotte's Web'

'Green Mansions'

'Les Fleurs de Mal'

'The Three Languages'

My sister's favorite:

'101 Codes'

My brother's favorite:

'Moss Mysteries'

"faire l'amour, c'est faire le mal,"

* * *

Dairy farms are quiet, the grazing

White and brown cattle, mooing

Quietly as their sweet milk,

Is surrendered and churned

To make soft cheddar cheese.

* * *

Dear Dairy,

I often reflect, when I have the time,

About the misfortunate surrounding life,

And what a dreadful thing it is to be accused,

When in fact you never touched the match.

Now, as I sit, locked in this storage shed,

With no windows or doors, and nothing

But a table and a mirror on the wall,

And my favorite blue typewriter

on my lap, I have time to reflect

And question.

* * *

'How long a time lies in one little word?'

'What's in a name?'

'Who in the world am I?'

'Isn't it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about?'

'Have you been good to your mother?'

'What was that noise?'

'Y tu, Brute?'

'Where is Count Olaf?'

* * *

Oh, my cheesemakers, children

Do not care about questions

Such as those that haunt me

And take away sweetness

Out of life.

* * *

When I have finished,

My work done,

The series of woe,

Finished and published:

'Ich kann nicht mehr.'

* * *

If you are a reader, please stop.

If you a reader, a volunteer, a traitor,

A banker, an orphan, a Hook-handed actor.

If you're a sweet actress, please do not come near,

For I bring misfortune on those I hold dear,

Stop now! Stop now!

* * *

My mother would sing to me on dark,

Moon-less nights, to the tune

Of my favorite TV show,

'Bout the Minnow and her famous

crew with the skipper brave,

and Mary-Ann sweet as sugar,

'Now sit right back and you'll hear

a tale, a tale of a fateful trip,

that started on this tropic port,

aboard this tiny ship.'

* * *

Though once she sang

New words, to this

Old dulcet tune:

* * *

'When we grab you by the ankles,

You won't be more than ten,

You'll help the world stay quiet but,

You won't see home again.'

PLEASE REVIEW AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK, OR I WILL BE EVEN MORE DEPRESSED!


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